My Own Boy
by Books In the Blood
Summary: After being imprisoned for 'indecent acts' Oscar reunites with his dear Bosie only to find that exile has been just as unkind to him as prison was for Oscar. When Bosie blames himself for Oscar's imprisonment, Oscar knows exactly what Bosie needs to put his mind at ease. After the shame of the trial, its the one thing that hasnt been take from them.


_This story contains very light elements of non-sexual age play so just be aware of that. But mostly its just fluffy fluff :) Enjoy!_

The weather was dreadful; at least it was the kind of day Oscar would usually call dreadful. Rain sheeting down, the sky a dismal granite color and much too chilly for the time of year but as he watched it out the window the only thing it struck him as was freedom. Freedom…he was free but not completely unscathed. Two years hard labor was not only hard on the body; it was even harder on the soul. He knew trouble was coming; nothing else possibly could after the trial had torn his life apart. He was basically penniless and his family gone; he didn't know if he'd ever get to see his sons again. That wasn't even to mention the sort of social circles he'd be able to run in now; namely, none. No one would want to have anything to do with him now. But this was not the time for that; those thoughts could catch up to him later. Right now, he was not in a small, depressing cell and wondering if he'd make it out alive. He HAD made it out alive and that's all that mattered. Collateral damage could come later.

As Oscar shut the curtains against the weather, he heard the sound of a small sob behind him, reminding him that he was not the only one in this tragedy. Alfred, his dear little Bosie, was sitting on the edge of the bed, face in his hands and sobbing like the little boy he was at heart. Had this been any other time, had the past two damn, bitter years not taken place, Oscar would have teased him about it, made some remark about how if he wore his heart on his sleeve someone was likely to snatch it or something of the sort. But this wasn't two years ago…..though Bosie still looked as beautiful and young as ever two years in exile had left something hard and bitter behind his eyes. He'd be alright; Oscar already knew that. But whatever it was would stay with him. Sure, Bosie had been spoiled and unprepared for exile but that wasn't his fault; it was usually his spoiled and puffed up attitude that Oscar liked best. And though many days in that wretched prison Oscar had cursed his name and wished that he never met him, that he'd never been close to Queensberry's rage, Boise was in this state because of him. He could have been like so many others who had forsaken him, even dared to say he was a cad, a corruptor of young boys; so many who had welcome his touch, who had caressed him with their little hands had used those same hands to stab him in the back. But not Bosie…Bosie had stayed and he had never implied Oscar had hurt him. He'd wanted to go on at the trial to help him. It was only Oscar's insistence that had kept him from it. He'd wanted to protect his boy; he hadn't been able to.

"Come now…..what is this?" Oscar asked, walking over to stand in front of Bosie. He tried to keep his tone light but they both knew it was falling apart. Out and about, having lunch and drinking wine it'd been easier to keep things light. Here, alone in the quiet with their thoughts, the press of what they had suffered was harder to escape.

Oscar sat down on the bed beside Bosie who didn't move his hands or respond. "You know ignoring me will do no good" he teased, running a finger against Boise's cheek but that simply made him flinch away. Oscar wasn't too stung by the snub; it wasn't like it was personal or any reflection of lack of feelings. But he did feel a sudden, persistent ache inside; it wasn't the usual burn of passion that usually made him ache. It was, more than anything, just the need for Bosie. For the touch of his skin, for the feel of his heartbeat and his breath that showed he was really here, to hold his warm, real body in his arms…god, prison had been so lonely. He'd be lying if he said he hadn't missed sex but what he really missed more than anything was gentle, loving contact. He missed feeling like a human being. He missed Bosie because he made him feel those things.

"We were having such a nice evening. Don't tell me you're going to be angry with me" Oscar said as sweetly as he could but it was forced. Bosie fell dramatically to the bed, crying into the blanket and muttering something that sounded like, 'Not angry' but he couldn't hear anything else.

Oscar fell back on the bed next to Bosie with a sigh; he felt so tired and so old. He was old compared to Boise, who delighted in people mistaking Oscar for his father, but he wasn't nearly as old as he felt. Prison had robbed him of years, he felt.

He rolled over and looked at Bosie, who really did look like such a child. That golden, flawless hair still fell against that perfect baby smooth skin, his face still exuded youth. He knew one way to reach Boise, one way he wouldn't refuse; initially Oscar had indulged him in playing the part of a father because he seemed to enjoy it so much. Certainly, Oscar didn't want to be reminded Bosie was a prime, beautiful specimen next to his middle aged imperfection. But then, he'd come to enjoy it; he was so pliable, so easy and relaxed when he connected fully with that childish nature that Oscar loved seeing him that way.

This was what they needed and Oscar knew it. The laughing, the carefreeness of the afternoon had been lovely but they had to break a little bit now; they had to be vulnerable. Putting an arm around him and leaning in, Oscar let his lips barely touch Bosie's ear in the whisper of a kiss. He was glad when Bosie did not pull away; his cries stopped momentarily though he stared at the wall rather than look back at Oscar.

"Mon petit prince…come here to Papa" Oscar whispered, running a hand through that soft, golden hair.

He could see Bosie shake his head, as if trying and failing to find strength to be adult or strong; whatever it was that he thought he should be in that moment. But when Oscar pulled him barely toward him, he put up no fight whatsoever.

And there it was; all Bosie really wanted was to be a little boy and all Oscar really wanted was for him to be a little boy. Sitting up on the edge of the bed, Bosie was all too eager to take up the spot on Oscar's lap he had so often occupied before their parting, sitting on his leg and wrapping his arms around Oscar's neck.

Something inside Oscar seemed to break and mend at the same time. He felt like a great chasm of need opened inside him but was immediately filled with Bosie's touch. His gentle fingers on Oscar's neck, his face buried in his shoulder, whispered desperate cries of "Papa" in his ears…..Oscar wrapped his arms tightly around Bosie and hugged him close.

"It's alright…my own boy is back with me again" Oscar whispered back, closing his eyes. He felt tears behind his eyelids but he wouldn't cry. Little boys could cry but Papas couldn't; that is the price he had to pay for youth's privilege. It was worth it.

Initially it had annoyed him to no end, Bosie's calling him Papa. Surely, he didn't want to be compared to Bosie's own horrible father. Oscar still couldn't even believe the uptight lunatic that had needlessly attacked him could produce such a beautiful angel; if he was fair he knew Bosie had his own mean streak but he wasn't often fair when it came to Bosie. It took him some time to realize that when Bosie was playing outside like a child or being cuddled or cared for by Oscar he wasn't picturing him as his actual father. Maybe he saw him as a replacement or maybe it was just a side effect of his feeling like a child; either way it didn't matter.

"Yes…..you and I are back together once more. You must know I missed you every day." Oscar said in a lighter voice, hand gently rubbing Bosie's back. His leg protested against Bosie's weight on it but he ignored it.

Bosie was still silent, except for sniffling. It wasn't usual for him to be this quiet; usually he couldn't get him to stop talking. "Every day I thought about my dear boy" Oscar continued, hoping he'd speak, "I told you I wouldn't forget you and I kept my promise."

Oscar waited; the silence in the flat seemed to echo. He paused, feeling the realness of Bosie in arms and trying not to think of all the times he'd dreamed of this moment and how it felt to think it'd never be. When Bosie spoke, it took him by surprise.

"You should have let me help you. If you'd let me help you, speak for you at the trial…..this wouldn't have happened. I should have helped." Bosie said, his voice muffled into Oscar's shirt.

It wasn't really what Oscar had expected; if anything, he expected Bosie to blame him. It was ludicrous to think Bosie taking a stand would have made a difference; if anything it would have made it worse.

Oscar put his hand on Bosie's cheeks, pulling him away from his chest so he could look at him. He wasn't crying anymore but his young, open eyes were blood shot. "You did not go to trial because I did not want you too" Oscar said firmly, "They knew what they were going to charge me with before the trial even started. If you had been there, it would have drawn more attention to you. You could have been in prison as well instead of in exile."

"I should have been; everything they said about you was true about me. In fact, what I did was much worse than you" Bosie said, "I should have done something, even if it would not have made a difference."

Bosie, always dramatic, always the martyr…Oscar had to smile. Taking a handkerchief out of his pocket, he gently dried off the tears on Bosie's cheeks; Bosie let him, his lip sticking out petulantly like a pout.

"Now don't be a silly little boy" Oscar chided him gently, "It would have done no good to have you in prison; I did not want that. Imagine locking up something as beautiful as you; that'd be criminal"

Oscar finished drying Bosie's tears and when he held up the handkerchief to his nose he reluctantly blew his nose; beautifully compliant. "I could have helped you" he still insisted, though there was no fight in his voice.

Oscar leaned forward and ever so gently kissed the tip of Bosie's nose; an entirely too romantic thing to have done outside the guise of 'Papa'. "And who said it was your job to take care of me?" Oscar asked with a smile toward Bosie. "I thought that was my job"

Bosie opened his mouth as if he wanted to argue but found that he couldn't. His pretty little lips were too busy smiling. "Now, you be a good little boy for Papa and let me hold you" Oscar said after a moment. For once, Bosie didn't argue; he lay his head against Oscar's shoulder, arms around him as if holding on for his life. Oscar closed his eyes and basked in the trust and affection, the warmth and want in the man in his arms and was sure that he had not been this happy in years.

…..

Bosie was, for the moment at least, at peace. The past two years had been something of a living hell; forced to live in a nation not his, with no friends and everyone treating him as if he were a leper. He did not do well without connections; he was lonelier than he'd ever been. People blamed him and avoided him for his connection with Oscar; they didn't assume anything that wasn't necessarily true but it was blown out of proportion. For everything that was said about them that had some truth to it, it was at least ten times worse in the eyes of the public than it really was.

In the beginning, Bosie had resisted Oscar's affections. It had been obvious to him from the start that Oscar was attracted to him; at first Bosie just enjoyed the attention Oscar lavished on him. He was undeniably infatuated with Oscar's mind and his writing before he'd even met him; when he did meet him he found his personality was just as intoxicating as Bosie had hoped it would be. Still, he'd resisted letting the flirting go very far. It wasn't that he found Oscar unattractive because he didn't; but to a beautiful and arrogant twenty year old who assumed he could get anyone he pleased, Oscar, nearing forty, wasn't Bosie's usual taste. But what Oscar lacked in looks he made up for in charm and personality; as nice as it was to be wooed by the older man he eventually succumbed to his attentions. He wasn't denying that things had never physical but it was more than that now. They were the dearest of friends but no one wanted to talk about that. No one wanted to talk about their work or their personalities; they just wanted to whisper about what they thought went on in their bedroom.

He knew there was a reason that it was 'the love that dare not speak its name' but that sounded so much more romantic as a poem and not in practice. Words were fine when that's all they were; when they were reality they could hurt you. Shame was what he'd called this love all those years and that had sounded whimsical then; now it just hurt to feel it. Everywhere he'd went, he'd been sufficiently shamed. As much as people spoke ill of him, it was nothing of what they said about Oscar and no one was shy about their opinions of him. He grew weary hearing of people slander Oscar when all he wanted was to have him back.

He'd meant to handle it all better. After all, they were both defying their families to be here. It had broken his heart when Oscar had told him that he couldn't see him when he got out of prison; Constance had forbidden it. While Bosie realized that for Oscar to defy her would mean he'd have no allowance, he'd still wished for it; he was glad when neither of them had obeyed the strict rule, the one rule that they wouldn't be able to keep. No matter what happened between them, nothing could keep them apart. Bosie had never known an affection like this before; he needed Oscar like no one else.

Earlier, things had been carefree and relaxed; it was surprising how easily he and Oscar had been able to fall back into their friendship. He'd been so overwhelmed by his relief and happiness at having him back that he had been able to forget less pleasant thoughts. So many times it had seemed like a dream; the idea of having Oscar back. The fact that it was now true was hard to believe.

When they'd gotten back to their rooms it all become so overwhelming. The pain, the loneliness, the guilt that if he'd never had a relationship with Oscar he wouldn't have been in that position at all….it was too much. Yes, they were really the same people as they had always been but it was no doubt that they had been scarred in ways they didn't even realize through their ordeal.

He hadn't meant to cry but once he'd started, he knew he couldn't stop. Though Oscar tried weakly to get him to stop, Bosie knew that he understood. When he whispered those words, "Mon petit prince…come here to Papa", it'd been Bosie's undoing. The words, the affection in Oscar's tone, so different than any other tone he used and Bosie felt that small, undeniable part of himself reaching out toward him. 'Yes! Yes!' his mind seemed to scream at as he self-control broke into a million pieces, 'I'm you're little prince and you're my Papa. You're here to protect me'. Oscar's arms had felt like home; sitting on his knees, Oscar's large arms around him. It was all suddenly so familiar to him and yet it was like he had forgotten in his years of waste and want. Nobody had wanted him and he was alone; now, the arms that held him strong, the voice that whispered his ownership proved that he was wanted. In that moment they weren't Oscar and Alfred, known by everyone but liked by no one; they were simply Papa and his little Boy.

Bosie's desire to be back in childhood again surfaced almost as soon as he had left childhood its self and seemed to only grow with age. His loss of innocence and virtue had occurred young though this wasn't all unpleasant and he couldn't say why the desire for innocence clung to him so. Surely, other people would claim he was selfish and vain, wishing to be spoiled and indulged like a child again. He WAS selfish and vain but that wasn't it. He couldn't place his finger on it; not until Oscar.

It had all started as a joke. He'd teased Oscar for being so much older than him by calling him 'Papa'. At first this seemed to annoy him, which delighted Bosie but after a while he began to play along. When Bosie would call him Papa, Oscar would call him little boy; he began to address his letters to 'my own boy.' It wasn't an overnight change but slowly Oscar began to indulge him like a child in little things; letting him sit on his lap, telling him what to eat, holding his hand so he 'didn't get lost'. From there, it had only grown; some of Bosie's best memories with Oscar were the ones that no one would be talking about in the streets or writing about in the papers. Those were days where he got to run and play outside under Oscar's careful eye, only irrupted for soft, affectionate hugs or kisses, or to be fed and it would only end with 'Papa' helping him wash up and putting him to bed with a nursery rhyme or story. Even though in court everyone had asked impertinent questions about their sex lives and read their love letters for all to hear, all of their intimacy and affection mocked about, this was something that no one could take from them.

So, he just let Papa hold him; because he said so, because it was so much easier and so much more relaxing just do as he told him to. He wanted to argue; he still felt like he should have done something. But this was how it worked; Oscar told him what to do and he complied. It was ironic how complying (albeit to someone you respected, not just anyone to be sure) could make you feel so free inside. Oscar could tell him to sit back and relax and he could do that; he didn't even have to wipe his tears away or clean his nose because that was all done for him. He simply had to BE.

After a while, Oscar sat back against the headboard of the bed, collapsing a bit under the curled up ball of his weight; he didn't make him move and for that he was grateful. He wasn't sure that he could have detached himself at that moment. He was too lost in the feel of Oscar's warmth just beneath his shirt and the indescribable scent that Bosie had come to know just as 'Oscar'.

"It was lonely…..so many times I wished you were here. I needed you to be here" Bosie whispered in the quiet of the room. It would have been harder to admit if didn't feel so suddenly small and vulnerable.

Oscar's fingers played with his hair, soothing against his scalp. "I know" he said in a quiet voice, almost as if even now their enemies were waiting for them around the corner, "I wanted to be with you too. I worried about who would take care of little Bosie without me there."

A fresh wave of tears seemed to sting Bosie's eyes as the memories rushed back to him. "No one" he said, clutching Oscar's shirt tightly as if he might disappear and hiding his face more, "There was no one to care for me. No one cared…no one even wanted to be near me, much less care about what I needed. The things they said….about me and you. You wouldn't believe the things that they said!"

Sensing he was getting worked up again and trying to calm him, Oscar ran his finger along his cheek, close to his lips. Finding comfort in it, Bosie pressed his lips against the offered finger; somehow it was always so much better than sucking on one's own thumb. "Now, we aren't going to think about that right now" Oscar said in his best stern but kind voice, "Those sorts of thoughts can always be dealt with later. Right now, we are just going to be together where it is safe. Isn't that right, little prince?"

It was hard to; for so long it felt he had been consumed by all those horrible things people said, by the terrible way they treated him. It was unlikely that he would ever be able to completely forget it; already he had the sense that the trial had marked him for life. But when Oscar said it and hugged him tighter to himself, at least for that moment, he could forget it. "Yes, Papa, you're right" he whispered back, closing his eyes against the few last tears that wanted to spill out.

He stayed like that for a long time; curled up in Oscar's lap, falling against his chest as he ran his fingers through his hair. He could have stayed like that forever if Oscar hadn't moved; seeing his eyes flutter as if he was going to fall to sleep then he was going to insist Bosie go to sleep, he already knew. He didn't even have the strength to argue against it though he missed his warmth and comfort as he moved off the bed and across the room.

"I think it's time for a wash and a change of clothes" Oscar said brightly, getting a flannel wet in the basin.

Though his words were light and relaxed, Bosie could see tiredness and a certain sadness in his features, highlighted by the flickering flames in the fireplace. Bosie could imagine what he must have gone through these past two years; Reading Galo was notorious in its harshness.

"I think I can do that for myself" Bosie said, his voice wavering but feeling a weak need to take care of himself thinking about the things that surely must be going through Oscar's head at the moment.

Bosie wasn't surprised that Oscar didn't go for it; secretly he was really pleased that he didn't. "I'm sure that you're very capable" Oscar said in a voice that left the impression he didn't think him capable of much at all, "But I think it's still best if Papa does it. And that little boys stay quiet and don't argue."

Bosie nodded, already feeling the fight go out of him. He watched Oscar move from the basin to stand next to the bed by him, the firelight seeming to follow him and cast shadows on him; whatever sad face he had thought that he had seen a moment ago was replaced and he looked nothing but happy. Bosie couldn't help but smile; if 'Papa' was happy, then he was happy.

Letting Oscar undress him when he was feeling little was an entirely different experience than any other circumstances he let him do in. The first night he had given in to Oscar's attentions, he'd been surprised how slowly he'd undressed him; like a precious gift he was unwrapping. For someone who was so filled with passion and had been longing for that moment for so long, he sure could take his time. Bosie didn't know if that was just one of the advantages of having a mature partner but even so he had felt cherished. That wasn't to say that he had never disrobed him in a fury; he certainly had and it had its own merits to it just as the slow undressing did.

But when he felt small, it was completely different than those times. During times of being intimately undressed, his heart beat wildly and his body flooded with excitement even though he was good at appearing calmer than he felt; every bit of him was alight with expectation. But being undressed this way, knowing the end result was completely different but intimate in a totally unexpected way, all he felt was relaxation. Shoe strings slowly undone, socks gently pulled off, arms and legs delicately detached from trousers and shirts…..rather than feeling burning with passion his body was slack as if he was merely a rag doll. If Oscar minded the lack of help he didn't look like it; quite the opposite of appearing annoyed he seemed to enjoy giving him the attention and Bosie was only so happy to let him do so.

After he was left in only his underpants, Oscar retrieved the flannel and began to wipe his skin down with it. The water on it was warm but it still seemed to give him a shiver on his skin wherever it touched. Of all many creative ways he had found in his life to push physical boundaries with people, there was nothing he found quite so intimate as being washed by someone else. There was a level of care and attention that he simply didn't find in anything else. Not to mention that it gave him an overwhelming sense of being back in the nursery, which of course was often where he wished to be.

As he worked, Bosie could hear Oscar humming lightly under his breath; after listening carefully for a minute, Bosie could make out the tunes of different nursery rhymes.

"You should sing them" Bosie said, lying back on the bed while Oscar ran the flannel along his legs which were covered in gooseflesh from the attention. Bosie could tell that Oscar tried to look stoic at being caught humming but when Bosie gave him what he thought was one of his best smiles, he couldn't help but grin a little bit.

"Ah, no one wants to hear me sing" Oscar said, still grinning.

"Last I checked, it's just you and I here" Bosie said, "And I would like you to sing"

Oscar smiled but his eyes were on Bosie's body, determinedly not looking at him.

"Please? For me, Papa?" Bosie asked in his sweetest voice. He knew it would work; it always had a child and it certainly did with Oscar. He liked being adored almost as much as Bosie did.

"Fine, you spoiled little child" Oscar said, trying and failing to sound harsh.

Soon the room was filled with Oscar's voice singing little nursery rhymes, most noticeably all the ones Bosie had ever said were his favorites. Lying back on the bed while Oscar took much longer than was necessary to wash him up, Bosie closed his eyes and just took in the sensations and the voice of the one he'd so longed to hear again. It could have been a dream; often times that was what scenes like this had been over the past two years, simply dreams. His whole body seemed to slacken even more at the realization that this time, finally, it was not a dream. Outside these walls everyone might want to attack them but inside here they were safe.

When he felt Oscar begin to pat him dry with a towel, he opened his eyes and was overwhelmed by a surge of affection. As Oscar's voice rang out with the sound of silly, childish songs, his hands busy with attending to Bosie's body, he found himself overwhelmed by the look of affection her saw in Oscar's eyes trained on him. Pure, unadulterated love shone there, deeper than Bosie had ever seen. Bosie was used to seeing desire reflected in other people's eyes; many people desired him. But no one else needed him; no one else loved him like that. He was sure that in the wake of the trial and Oscar's subsequent imprisonment and his own exile, that many people assumed that the separation would sever their connection. He was delighted to see that they were completely wrong.

The crushing fatigue he'd tried to shunt away was quickly approaching as Oscar retrieved his nightgown. He was yawning widely as Oscar slipped it over his head and as his head poked through the top he saw Oscar smiling at him. "Looks like its high time for someone to go to bed." He said. He pulled back the bedclothes and motioned for Bosie to get in.

Bosie gave him a haughty look though it felt weary. "I surely hope you don't expect me to get in there alone?" he asked. He felt like he could faint with exhaustion any moment but he wasn't going to go that easily. His bed had been far too empty for far too long.

"You will if Papa tells you to" Oscar said giving him a sly look, "But, I would have thought that you would have gotten used to sleeping alone by now. Aren't you a big boy by now?"

It was spoken by a joke but they both knew it wasn't one. Those furtive conversations before Oscar had gone to Reading, the whispered promises; they did mean something.

"Of course you know I'm not" Bosie said in a bratty tone, assuring Oscar he was anything but grown up, "And though I have adapted to sleeping alone doesn't mean I would ever get used to it."

Oscar tried not to but he looked pleased. "Go ahead and climb in prince" he said, "And I'll join you as soon as I get changed."

Oscar pulled back the covers and Bosie climbed in at once with the assurance he wouldn't have to be alone. The sheets were cool against his skin as he slunk down into them and he looked forward to Oscar's warmth.

Bosie kept his eyes on Oscar as he walked across the room to retrieve his own nightgown; somehow, it almost felt as if he took his eyes off of him, he would vanish. It was a childish feeling but one born out of serious events and it wasn't an exactly pleasant feeling.

He watched Oscar disrobe with more attention than he knew he should have but he was glad at least that he couldn't hear his thoughts. Every one of Oscar's movements seemed slower and more labored than he was used to; Bosie hoped that this was simply because it was late and he was tired but somehow he didn't think this was so. The hard labor that Oscar had had to endure in prison was well known to do in many men; at best, it had taken some years off his life and at worst…well, he didn't even want to consider that his days were numbered. Though he'd always teased him about his age, Bosie thought that this was the first time that Oscar had ever really seemed old to him.

It was much easier to push those unpleasant thoughts out of his head as Oscar got into bed and he could feel the comfortable warm press of him against himself. He found his old, contented spot lying against Oscar's chest, his arm thrown around him, as if he'd never left and felt a sigh come out of him from somewhere deep and needy inside him. Oscar's arm wrapped around him before his hand found his hair again.

"Tell me a story" Bosie said with childish impulsivity, eyes closed and body relaxed, soaking in Oscar's hand playing with his hair.

"A story? What do you think I am, a story writer or something?" Oscar teased.

"That's exactly what I think you are, Papa" Bosie said with a smile.

"Well, I suppose it's foolish to think you'll sleep if I don't indulge you, so I guess I better" Oscar said.

"Yes, you better" Bosie said.

"Alright…..let's see" Oscar said, making his voice louder and grander as he thought what to say. "I guess I'll tell you a story about a king. There once was a king who fancied himself one of the finest in the whole world. He had lots of money and dressed very fine. He had plenty of friends and went to all kinds of magnificent parties. He had plenty of fun and everyone liked him. He should have been happy but he found that he wasn't very happy because he was missing something."

"What was he missing? I thought you said he was rich." Bosie cut in curiously, guessing where this was going.

"He was rich but that didn't mean he had everything he wanted" Oscar continued. "There are plenty of things that money can't buy. It can't buy friends; but he had plenty of friends. It can't buy a good reputation; but he had that. The one thing that he didn't have and the one thing that he couldn't buy was a beautiful little prince which is exactly what he wanted."

"Ah….a prince?" Bosie asked, twisting his head to look at Oscar who smiled at him. "And why would he want a prince?"

"Maybe if you'd stop interrupting, you'd find that out" Oscar said, giving Bosie's head a playful push before he lay back down to relax.

"This king wanted a beautiful little prince that he could love and who would love him" Oscar continued in his storybook voice, "Because though he had many friends, no one really loved him like that. So every day, the king would look high and low for that prince and just when he had thought that he would never find one, he did. That little prince was lovely and smart and kind and more than anything, he loved the king. They were the closest of friends even though no one wanted them to be friends. Everyone around the king and the prince tried to split them up; they said mean things about them and told them that they weren't allowed to see each other. But you know what the king and the prince did?"

Bosie smiled against Oscar's chest; it was cute, really, him making up a story about them. It was just cute enough that he could excuse him making himself a king and Bosie a prince.

"What did they do?" Bosie asked, taking the bait. His ear pressed against Oscar's chest where his heart lay and he could hear the sound of it beating strong inside him.

Bosie could feel the press of Oscar's lips, just a whisper of a touch, against his forehead. "They did it anyway because they cared so much for each other." He said.

Bosie turned his head and looked knowingly at Oscar. "Sounds like the king and the prince were very lucky, even if it sounded at times like they weren't" he said. He was happy to see the smile reflected back to him.

"That they were" he said simply, laying down further on the bed, his eyes closing in fatigue.

Bosie lay awake for a while after the pace and depth of Oscar's breaths told him he was asleep. He was so preoccupied with sound of that breath and the beat of that heart that even though he was tired he didn't sleep for some time. But mostly he was filled with the sense of peace and emotion that he was sure that he had not felt for quite some time. Long before exile, long before the trial and all the hell that it had brought.

And that feeling was nothing more than pure, simple childlike happiness.

After reading Douglas Murrary's biography of Bosie Douglas I've become convinced that if he lived today he'd be considered a little. He mentioned many times throughout his life that he wished to be a child again and described himself as having as having an 'infantile complex'. As an old man he even said that he was most excited about heaven because he believed you could be any age you wanted to be in heaven and he was going to be a little boy again. And heaven knows he needed someone to take care of him! Oscar Wilde also displayed a childlike nature and was so naturally paternal in an age where most parents were hands off that I think this dynamic could really work for them. Thanks for reading!


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